


These Are Healing Hands

by 60r3d0m



Series: Season 14 Coda Collection [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Dean Winchester, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean is unapologetically in love with Cas, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Episode: s14e01 Stranger in a Strange Land, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, M/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 14, Sharing a Bed, but really just a ridiculous amount of bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/pseuds/60r3d0m
Summary: “How you feelin’?”Cas turns back to look at him over his shoulder. Dean’s done changing into his pajama shorts. Cas’ eyes rove over the freckles that litter Dean’s stomach before they’re hidden by the ratty shirt that he pulls on.“I should be asking you that,” Cas says and Dean wanders over, takes a seat at the edge of the bed next to him. “It's been two hours, Dean, and you’re still inebriated.”





	These Are Healing Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, man, it's been so long since I've written a proper episode coda. It feels good to be back <3 I wrote all my codas save for one on Tumblr last year, but this season, I'm going to try to put out more stories on AO3 because I miss writing and I miss this place and I miss you guys <3 
> 
> This is a coda for 14.01, but starts off during s13. It's not too spoilery, actually, and I'm not even sure if I can call it a coda :P I was mostly just craving some clingy bed sharing so here you go: some rather gratuitous gentle plotless fluff

“You know you’re a dumbass, right?”

Cas winces. Dean’s fingers stitch the gash on his arm with ease. His hands are practiced. He’s done this one too many times.

“I would heal myself,” Cas says, “but my grace is dwindling now that heaven is on the brink of collapse.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He keeps on stitching Cas up, and when the last one is tied off, he puts the kit away and brings back a hot towel. Cas shifts his weight and the closed toilet seat beneath him creaks. He’s not sure what else Dean can take care of now.

“Not yet,” Dean warns, when Cas starts pulling back on his shirt. In just his slacks, he feels uneasy, but Dean presses a reassuring hand to his shoulder and Cas forgets everything. A moment later, Cas feels the warmth of the towel against his face, gently wiping away dried blood. The other hand on Cas’ shoulder stays.

“You can rest, you know?” Dean says, softly, but there’s still a gruff edge to it. “You don’t gotta go after every angel that comes flapping over. Or at least...take Sam and me. The three of us.”

Cas fidgets in his seat. Dean moves the warm towel, down his jaw to his neck before it meets the bare skin of Cas’ chest. The fingers on Cas’ shoulder tighten.

“I need to help them.” Cas says, clenching his fists. He knows that Dean means well. But it isn’t his battle. It isn’t his fault. This...

“This is my fault, Dean.”

Dean stops working.

“It isn’t your fault,” he snaps and the towel falls to the floor. The dried blood on Cas’ chest is nearly gone. But before Dean can do anything about what remains, Cas lets his grace spill out, small wisps that will do little than clean his body.

“C’mon,” Dean says, when Cas is done pulling back on his clothes. “You’re gonna get some goddamn sleep.”

 

 

 

 

There’s no bed in Cas’ room. He’s not supposed to need sleep, and he tells that to Dean, but Dean doesn’t really care.

“If you need me to stitch up your wounds, Cas, then you need sleep.”

Dean is efficient at what he does. He strips off the sheets of his bed and replaces them with new ones in the blink of an eye. It’s too late in the day to find another room in the bunker. The other bedrooms are dusty, with rickety beds and wrinkled sheets. Dean says that he didn’t have time to do the usual dusting when Cas died. He’s still catching up.

So, it’s Dean’s bed tonight.

As if on duty, Cas swiftly changes into the shorts and t-shirt that Dean gives him. Trench coats aren’t allowed in beds. Cas isn’t sure when this rule was invented.

Another minute more and flatly, “Get in,” Dean says.

Soon, both of them are settled under the blanket. Like Sammy and me, Dean says. We used to share all the time.

Dean turns the lamp off.

 

 

 

 

The stitches aren’t healing well. When Cas wakes in the middle of the night, his skin is already itchy and inflamed. He’s never had problems like this before, so hours before the sun is even up, Cas shakes Dean.

Dean is grumpy as expected. Also very sleepy. And touchy. He pushes his hand under Cas’ shirt and gropes around while Cas frowns at him. Then after a few blinks, Dean pauses with his hand on Cas’ hip.

“Which one ’s it?” he mumbles. He glances at the clock again. 3:49 A.M.

Cas feels guilty.

“My face,” he says, and Dean furrows his eyebrows with displeasure.

“‘Course, with my luck, ’s gotta be the goods,” Dean says, and he withdraws his hand from Cas’ hip, clasping Cas’ head instead, and he examines the stitches on his chin. “Nah,” he says and he rubs his thumb across Cas’ cheek. “It’s nothing. Normal. Doubt there’ll even be a scar. You’ll still be hot.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, still bleary-eyed from sleep, and then he leans forward and brushes his lips against Cas’ chin.

“There,” he says, and he drops his hands from Cas’ face. “Kissed it better.”

 

 

 

 

 _I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

Cas isn’t sure if trouble keeps finding him, or if he goes looking for it.

(Dean says that he goes looking for it).

For the second time that week, Cas finds himself perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, this time with his pants off while Dean stitches up a wound in his thigh. The whole time, Dean bites his tongue and doesn’t talk. When he’s done, he fetches a warm towel, wipes away the blood like he’s done too many times. He tells Cas that he needs sleep so Cas is going to spend the night with him.

Dean pulls him along down to the kitchen, wants him to eat, too, because the old wounds from before haven’t healed either even though Cas is an angel, and Dean thinks that that’s not right.

“Sleep and good food,” Dean declares. “Every night, Cas, ’til you’re all powered up.”

“These things have no bearing on fast my grace regenerates, Dean.”

In the end, Dean doesn’t find anything satisfactory in the kitchen. Sam is busy making a salad and Dean knows that they should’ve gone for groceries at least a week and a half ago. Dean pulls him by the wrist to the Impala.

“I know a place,” he says.

An hour later and they pull into a parking lot riddled with potholes and Dean is starving and Cas feels no different. In between a suspicious-looking massage parlour called _Mandy’s_ and a boarded-up postal office with graffiti scrawled over its walls is _A Little Slice of Heaven_. Cas frowns, but Dean nudges him through the door of the bar and Cas’ ears are met with the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter.

They aren’t seated for long before a beaming waitress comes over to take their order. The menu is vast and Cas crinkles his nose with confusion, so Dean orders a pizza and says, “We’ll share.”

 

 

 

 

Dean is talking about Freddie Mercury again and what a great cowboy he would’ve made in a western (the fact that Dean has had three beers already has little to do with his enthusiasm). The waitress comes by and asks if Cas would like another beer, too, but Cas shakes his head. Secretly, he wishes that he could drink a liquor store.

“C’mon,” Dean says and he reaches across the table and pats Cas’ hand. “Let loose a little.”

Maybe it’s because Cas doesn’t “let loose” that when the waitress rolls around carrying Dean’s fourth beer, Dean waves his hand and says, “I’m good.”

But then the waitress smiles and plonks it down onto the table, anyway.

“Someone else paid for it,” she says.

 

 

 

 

Dean keeps clearing his throat while he sips on his beer. It’s been five minutes since the waitress pointed out the attractive man across the room to be Dean’s admirer so he’s stopped talking.

Cas shifts in his seat and tries to will himself to eat the last bite of his pizza. Cas’ stomach is literally a bottomless pit so he’s not sure how it’s even possible to feel this way. Dean chokes on his beer and Cas looks up to see him staring at the handsome stranger. The handsome stranger’s got his eyes on Dean like leeches and he’s smirking in a way that makes Dean flush.

Twenty minutes later, a fifth beer appears and Dean gulps it down as if there’s no tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Dean is drunk. Dean is so drunk that Cas knows that it would be inadvisable to drive, and because Dean would never let someone else touch the Impala, Cas will have to find some other way to get him home.

That is, if Dean ever decides to leave.

He’s over by the counter with the man and they’re on their third shot. Cas has never seen Dean with a man before, but he’s seen plenty of women, so he knows that he won’t be sleeping in Dean’s bed tonight.

When Dean finally staggers back to their table with the man, Dean squishes up beside Cas in the booth instead of his own seat and flings his arm around Cas’ shoulders. The man takes the seat opposite them but now he’s no longer smirking and Cas suddenly wants more pizza.

“I thought pouring a few down your throat would make business easier, Winchester, but I should’ve known you’d just go right back to your mistress.”

The man pulls off a sigilled ring and his ugly true form becomes visible.

When the demon’s eyes flick to black, Dean groans and buries his face into the crook of Cas’ neck.

 

 

 

 

 _I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

Cas is wrong. After they reject the demon’s proposal as Crowley’s replacement on the throne, Dean pulls him by the hand back to the Impala and wordlessly hands him the keys.

“Baby’s safe with you,” Dean says and drunkenly tumbles into the passenger seat.

 

 

 

 

“How you feelin’?”

Cas turns back to look at him over his shoulder. Dean’s done changing into his pajama shorts. Cas’ eyes rove over the freckles that litter Dean’s stomach before they’re hidden by the ratty shirt that he pulls on.

“I should be asking you that,” Cas says and Dean wanders over, takes a seat at the edge of the bed next to him. “It's been two hours, Dean, and you’re still inebriated.”

“’M good,” Dean says. “Your grace?”

Cas wrings his hands. Softly, “Slow,” he says.

Dean grimaces at the update. He claps a hand down onto Cas’ thigh, warm after his shower. He keeps it there, steady, thumb rubbing small circles into the fabric. Cas shuts his eyes. Presses his own hand over Dean’s.

“Tickles, huh?” Dean says and he laces their fingers together.

Then, after a moment, “C’mon. Bedtime.”

 

 

 

 

This time when Cas wakes, it isn’t because his stitches are itchy. This time, it’s Sam’s voice and the sound of a fist knocking on the door before it swings open.

“Hey, think I found a lead on Gabri—”

Sam stops.

Cas opens his eyes just as Dean sits up and rubs at his eyes tiredly.

“What?” Dean says and Sam tiptoes around the door.

“Gabriel—I think—there’s Loki—”

Dean runs a hand over his face and moans.

“Shut up, Sammy,” he grunts and he prods Cas. “Where’s my goddamn coffee?”

 

 

 

 

It’s about twenty minutes later before they both appear in the kitchen.

“So,” Sam says and he sounds very awkward. Cas knows that Sam is awkward because Cas is very awkward himself, and if he can notice Sam’s awkwardness, too, then it can’t be a good thing for Sam. “I’m sorry for, uh, walking in on you guys this morning.”

Dean doesn’t flush. Not like he had at the restaurant.

He throws a cube of sugar into his mug and, “Might as well get used to it,” he says.

 

 

 

 

Cas realizes that Sam is very much mistaken.

When they head out to finally grab some much needed groceries, Sam offers Cas the passenger seat without Cas even needing to call shotgun. He thinks that because Dean and Cas slept in the same bed, they’re something more than what they really are. But the two nights that Cas has spent with Dean, Dean has kept his limbs to his own side.

“I’ll meet up with you guys after,” Sam says and he smiles gently, as if he understands something that Cas doesn’t. Then he disappears into the produce aisle.

As they shop, Dean’s obtuse. He insists on buying things for Cas when Cas has no need for them. He shows him two brands of yoghourt and asks which one Cas would like more.

“I don’t need to eat, Dean!” Cas bursts at last and Dean narrows his brows at him and threatens, “Oh, you’re _gonna_ eat, alright—I’ll make damn sure of it.”

On the way home, Dean stops at a furniture store and buys a new pillow for Cas. There’s only one in his room, and it’s old.

 

 

 

 

There are many moments of battle that Cas despises, but abduction is definitely the worst.

“Get the angel!” the enemy shouts and Cas glares at the lackeys that come for him. They really should’ve killed the demon from the bar last week. He’s not in the mood to be bait, and Sam and Dean are busy enough looking for Gabriel. Jack and Mary—each day that they can’t open the rift is only another day that they’re stuck in the other world.

But Cas ends up being bait.

Cas kicks and shoves, but his grace is already pitifully low from the deteriorating state of heaven. As soon as the demon manages to snap a warded cuff onto his wrist, the rest of him goes down toppling. Cas rolls his eyes as the demon makes his villainous phone call.

“We got your mistress, Winchester,” the demon gloats. “What are you gonna do about it?”

It doesn’t take long after that. An hour later, Sam and Dean show up at the warehouse. The demon keeps an angel blade steady to Cas’ throat, declaring his intent to rule hell, and Cas vaguely wonders how long the fiend will last if he doesn’t flee.

When the demon cuts Cas’ cheek with the blade, Dean throttles him.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says as Dean undoes the shackles. “They used a spell to summon me and I was compelled by its magic.”

Cas expects Dean to be annoyed. Maybe even angry. But he’s not expecting the worry in Dean’s eyes. He’s not expecting Dean’s hands to grasp at his face with a desperation that Cas only ever knows if he is on the brink of death. All Cas has is a small cut on his cheek and Dean’s behaving as if it’s something more.

(It’s not something more. Cas knows that).

“You okay?” Dean asks and he’s panting. “Did they hurt you?”

Cas shakes his head and Dean looks at him, intently, searches his face as if he’s not sure that it’s the truth. He sweeps Cas’ hair back, rubs a thumb over his temple, keeps his hands on Cas for far too long.

Dean licks his lips.

Shifts on his feet just so that he’s standing a little bit closer.

Then, Sam’s voice from the other end of the warehouse calls for them.

Dean drops his hand and says, “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

 

 _I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

It’s another stitch on Cas’ face. Cas’ face is becoming riddled with so many cuts that Cas worries that he will soon resemble Frankenstein’s creature from every Halloween movie that Dean has ever made him watch.

This time, Dean takes a lot of time taking care of him. He wipes Cas’ entire face with the towel even though the blood is only one side. He presses his hand to the back of Cas’ neck, rubs up and down his back in a manner that is soothing. Sam even walks by several times, hoping to shower, but Dean keeps the bathroom occupied with their presence.

When there’s nothing more left to do, Dean says, “You know I love you, Cas, right?”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat and he can’t make his mouth work.

Outside the bathroom, the floor creaks as Sam passes by the open door one more time. But now there’s a pause before he moves on.

When he’s truly gone, Dean stares at the bruises littering Cas’ jaw, the outline of the demon’s hands who held him with a ruthless grip. Dean closes his eyes, too long to be a normal blink, and when he opens them again, he leans over and brushes his lips along the length of Cas’ jaw.

“There,” he says and his face is unreadable. “Kissed it better.”

 

 

 

 

“It’s not better,” Cas says desperately. “The washing machine is still leaking soap bubbles everywhere, Dean! Come home soon.”

Dean laughs on the other end of the phone. They’re off with Gabriel to hunt down the god, Loki—his brother’s foolish search for revenge against what Asmodeus did to him.

Cas should be with them. But Dean says he needs to rest.

“Will do, sweetcheeks. Now do me a favour and switch out the sheets of our bed, too? They’re due for a wash.”

Cas furrows his brows. He furrows them and thinks hard.

“I can hear you squinting, Cas,” Dean says. “What’s the matter?”

“I thought you wanted me to take a break. Not do housework.”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. Cas can hear him shifting, the jingle of the Impala’s keys in his hands. He must still be in the car. Sam and Gabriel are probably waiting for him. But before Cas can say good-bye, Dean says, “I just want you to be safe.”

Cas bites his tongue. “Dean—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dean says. “I know you can take care of yourself. But we all need breaks, okay? You were just kidnapped by demons. So let yourself relax. Put a little monotony in your life, even if it means doing laundry.”

Cas fidgets with the belt of his coat. “You should take your own advice, Dean.”

Dean smiles. Cas can’t see him, but he knows that Dean is smiling because his voice goes soft, and he talks like he does when it’s just the two of them.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, “and then I’ll buy you dinner.”

 

 

 

 

Gabriel’s grace doesn’t work. The portal to the other world opens only to fizz out. Cas knows that Dean will be unhappy, but without any other way to save Jack and Mary, Cas has a responsibility.

So, “We need Lucifer,” he says.    

After they argue and after they all agree, Dean pulls him over to the hallway, and they wander back to their room together. Dean doesn’t want to work with Lucifer. Dean’s not happy.

“If you want to be angry with me in private, I understand,” Cas says.

“No, you idiot,” Dean says, and unexpectedly, he grabs Cas’ hand. They stand there, at the foot of their bed with fingers entwined, and Dean looks at him with soft eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”

Cas drops his eyes to the floor.

“Tomorrow, we’ll have Lucifer, anyway”—Cas feels Dean’s fingers tighten—“and then we’ll be able to open the rift to get your mother back…Jack back.”

Dean hums in agreement. He draws Cas to the closet, pulls out their pajamas. Cas blinks. It’s not even late enough for dinner.

But, “C’mon,” Dean says. “Let’s get comfy.”

So they do that. They curl up in bed, pull the blanket up and sit side by side, watch a movie that Dean picks out that doesn’t exasperate Cas for once (there are no cowboys). When it’s over, Cas expects Dean to ramble about the intricacies of intergalactic warfare, but Dean doesn’t. Instead, “I hate that we’re always losing people,” he says. “I hate how easy it was to lose Mom and the kid— _you_.”

And Dean’s grasping his hand again, as if seeking an anchor, looking down at their entwined fingers, as he rubs circles into Cas’ skin with his thumb. He drops his head onto Cas’ shoulder, leans into him, and like the sad pair of friends in the movie that they just watched, Cas tentatively wraps an arm around him.

“I don’t wanna lose anyone,” Dean says, “when we go into that damn rift.”

 

 

 

 

This time, it’s not about stitching Cas together again. This time, Cas is mending, becoming more whole.

Cas sits patiently on the closed toilet seat cover as Dean snips away at the stitches that he doesn’t need now. He’s healed enough for his body to do the job, even if his grace is only a flicker. Underneath his feet, the bathroom tiles chill him and Dean’s skin is covered in goosebumps, too.

When he’s done, Dean runs his fingers over the healing skin, tells him there will be no scars. Cas nods and Dean runs his finger over Cas’ lips and Cas shivers, closes his eyes and wonders if he’s imagining how cold the room is.

When his eyes are open again, Dean watches him and his mouth.

Dean’s slow.

He kisses every bruise and broken piece before he takes Cas’ mouth.

 

 

 

 

They’re not just together. They’re joined at the everything.

Dean gasps with every thrust. Their sweaty thighs and rolling hips move together in rhythm and every time the ache gets to be too much, they press their mouths together, a long desperate kiss that only stirs them up some more.

Cas doesn’t know if this is love. The change from when they didn’t do this to now is barely perceptible. But it feels like weeping. It feels like relief.

“Come on,” Dean says and Cas follows him. They collapse, sated, tangled together, arms and legs. Each punched out breath is accompanied by a feverish kiss that makes Cas pant harder, and only when they can’t move anymore, when they can’t do anything but lie together with their eyes closed, only then does their breathing even, their hearts beating together steady and unlaboured.

 

 

 

_I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

It shouldn’t come to this. It shouldn’t be like this, not even a day later, that Dean is talking about leaving, talking about saying _Yes_ to Michael.

“Only until we get Sam and Jack,” Dean says. “It’s temporary, Cas.”

And Cas pulls him into his arms and begs him. Cas can’t have him say _Yes_. Every part of Cas’ life has been about saving him from this.

From the corner of the room, Michael watches them with curiosity glittering in his eyes.

But Dean kisses him as if no one else is there.

 

 

 

 

 _I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

When he says _Yes_ , Cas doesn’t stay with him.

He can’t see it.

He won’t.

 

 

 

 

“I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know, everything.”

Cas keeps his mouth shut.

And then the swarm of demons descend down upon him.

 

 

 

 

There’s no one here to stitch him up after another abduction. There’s no one here to wipe away the blood after what the demon, Kip, did.

“We’ll save him,” Sam says. “We’ll find Dean.”

Cas nods and goes. To Jack first, who is still bloody like him, who’s learning how to fight so that he can hurt like them. And then when they’re done talking, Cas drifts to Dean’s room, shaky legs and shallow breaths following him through the door.

He hasn’t been here since he left.

Cas doesn’t know how to sleep anymore.

Removing his trench coat, he buries himself under the blanket and waits for the sun to come up.  

 

 

 

 

 _I thought the two of you were joined at the...you know,_  everything.

 

 

 

 

It’s not that hard begging. It’s a last-ditch effort to pull Dean out of the haze that Michael’s keeping him in, so when Michael has him by the throat and is a few blows away from delivering Cas to Death, instead of life, Cas begs for Dean.

“I love you,” Cas chokes and he’s never wept before but the tears come freely, mixed with sweat and blood. “Dean— _please_ , Dean.”

Michael laughs, lifts him up against the wall.

“I don’t like getting my hands dirty, brother,” he says and his fingers around Cas’ neck tighten, “but for Dean Winchester, I’ll give you the courtesy.”

And Cas kneels there, waiting for Michael’s last blow, but it never comes.

“Dean?” Cas says, and for a moment, there's nothing.

Then Dean falls to his knees and pulls him into his arms.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s hands sew Cas’ battered face together once more. Cas sits still in the bathroom, lets Dean wipe the blood away. Lets Dean kiss him when Dean’s hands shake too much and he has to put the needle down.

“It’s okay,” Cas says and holds those hands until they become steady again. He picks up the warm towel and erases Dean’s pain.

“I made a mistake,” Dean says, as if they don’t all make those. “I should’ve—”

“You did it to save your family,” Cas says, quiet, and Dean's eyes blink back quick and confused.

"You're my family, too," he says and Cas nods, but maybe just right there, his heart skips a beat.

They clean up their mess. They clean up after themselves and Cas takes Dean’s hand, steers them back to their room. When they get there, they strip down, pull on their night clothes and wrap their arms around each other. The silence of peace is the only music that they need to rock together.

And then, in bed, weary bodies, together they sleep, tangled in each other’s warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! Thank you very much for reading and feedback and kudos are always appreciated if you've got the time. I would love to hear from you <3 Other than that, if you'd like, you can come visit me here on my train wreck of a [blog](http://60r3d0m.tumblr.com) where I'll also be writing some codas and fics this year :D


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